


Black Butterflies

by TechnicolourRomantics



Category: Arcadia (UK Band), Duran Duran
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Attraction, Darkness, Dom/sub Undertones, Gothic, Lust, M/M, Surreal, Vampire nods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:20:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25300771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TechnicolourRomantics/pseuds/TechnicolourRomantics
Summary: Darkness descends, and the spirit of Arcadia shall prevail.
Relationships: Nick Rhodes/Roger Taylor (Duran Duran)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 5





	Black Butterflies

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been interested in RoNi lately, and in combination with a dream I had, this is what resulted. It's surreal, fanciful Arcadia-verse and the product of vivid night visions. I always did feel like the world they created for the album could really be something real 🖤❤ Enjoy!

**_In a fluid time, in an ever changing place..._ **

The dark liquid pool around the feet of the candle grew.

Wax, tarry and thickened, it rose up the crested candle holder. Bit by bit, intervalled at each passing moment. Cavernous and echoing, the weak wash of light stayed their only beam. And barely so, threatened relentlessly by the draft which crept in under the doorway.

Flickering light thrashed, unwilling to pledge subservience under the shimmering black that swathed the bed, shadows leaving a sticky coating that trapped its occupants in its wake. 

Deepened silence pervaded the air, save for the lustrous _scritch_ of the sweeping cloth, draped with its tendrilled tassels over them. It bore potential to slide off any moment, as two bodies moved in supple concert underneath it. 

The cloth served wonderful purpose, veiling them from doors that could open, or eyes that could rake.

If it were real, it soothed their needs for privacy, or if it were simply fiction, like everything else here seemed to be, they were painting out an art for all to see. Bodies as brushes, the indulgent path of their hands as their brushstrokes. 

Guided into the foxhole, Roger's reservations over where he was being led had slid away, sliding into oblivion with that first feel of those lips. Blooming like a fleshy rose, they had moulded, bright pink and moistened under the candleglow, around his own. 

That softness. 

All he could feel.

Those eyes that folded around his body when he opened his own.

All he could see. 

The smirk that unfurled across the unearthly visage, so human yet icy its delivery. 

_The promise_ , of more.

All he could want.

_Come on, man!_ Nick smiled, as the other man quickly fell victim to the deft switch to colloquialism. Trust making its comfortable way through those saucered brown eyes. 

_Just like that._

Garments divested, dropping to the dusty floor. Cloth by cloth. Dropping petal by petal. Carried out by his own willing hands, while those slender ones mellowly pulled him further along. 

As they fell back on the inviting bed he swore he’d have nothing to do with, their lips fell together again in a gaping union. Flaming red skies descended above the bed, the screech of a devilish gargoyle rang in Roger’s ears, goading them to continue, while Nick seemed unaffected. 

As if the sensations were normal, as if all that had struck Roger as oddities in this place were anything but. 

He was prone to overthinking but it seemed a forbidden act here, when he felt a pointed push from the tongue above him in his own mouth. _Don’t think, feel_ , it insisted. Shudders came over him as it inched further than normal, warmly opening up parts himself he hadn’t known were reality.

Deeper yearnings that had always lapped softly at the edges of his demure nature, coaxing it to give.

It gave way, all the way.

His virtue was in swaying danger now, as he tentatively mouthed the bone line of softened ashen skin that was exposed to him.

It was akin to consuming his own innocence, tasting the disappearing richness as it slid willingly down his throat. There was a wisp of guilt as he vanquished it, but the lithe dip of a rewarding hand between his thighs silenced it shut. 

Sensation, sensation. _Lose yourself in it, suspend yourself in it._

Touched intimately by Nick, it was as if the latter had placed a rose in his hand. And struck by its tantalising beauty, his hands eagerly gripped the stalk, pricking himself with its thorns and watching headily as it bled out. 

The dripping crimson stream that resulted slithered wetly down his palm, and a wild intensity shimmered in those glowing greens that watched. 

A slow tongue ran across the lips he had freshly kissed. 

_Danger, confusion. Blazing confusion._ He wanted to yell, back off, run and hide. 

But to where? 

_Nowhere, please. Don’t go. Stay._ Nick’s eyes implored, seeming almost hurt by his thoughts. He drooped them at the edges.

Roger was soothed then, all too easily, by the hands that ran up and down his bronzed sides. Ruddier in the lighting, and sculpted under the gripping fingers, they touched tenderly, assuring that his worries were much misplaced. 

_It’s okay, it’s all okay, Roger. It’s all okay._

It was heaven to place trust in that voice.

Probably also his worst oversight.

_To hell with it, whatever this… was._ Oversights this pleasant came by rare. 

Staring up boldly, he drowned himself in Nick’s eyes, committing to far memory the sanctuary they afforded him. Eyelashes batting, praising him with each sultry flutter and flicker.

Tempter he was, the small hands remained skimming, thin fingers rubbing coying patterns against Roger's skin. Successful, it beckoned him to rub back further with his own caresses. In the ways he already knew how. 

Malevolence made a steady home in Roger while their hands made light work, leaving Nick to edge the dark cover away, sliding down to enact more reactions of his choosing. 

Mouths then too made light work as they lowered, inching and slipping smoothly.

Roger found his hands fusing themselves thickly in the plentiful darkened sea that framed that busy face, preoccupied with a stroking tongue. As he called out, the tight fingers initiated his swirling fall from grace, tasting the acrid sweetness of something strange in his mouth in the process. A refined wine, venom dancing with a metallic pang. 

Dangerously rousing, and it pushed him further and further.

The damp, lingering kiss afterward left him drinking up the scent of himself.

Daring to look up again into those eyes - his own growing bravery did not escape his notice - he saw the want that bore into him.

And he was sure that it too burned in his, brown pupils charred to black. 

Rushing to breach the boundary, they soared toward the target that had been long coming from the moment Nick had him in his bed. Dripping softness caressed them with its gloved hands, embedded deep in their nature, no matter how much Nick wanted to fight for total hold. 

With the spidery grip on his solid arms, Roger felt bolder than he had ever been. 

Dark eyes wide, he shone his searchlight on high-beam into those greens, now glowing in the dark of the dying candlelight like the luminous starry stickers that dotted his childhood ceiling in a galactic trail. 

Childhood seemed a distant galaxy itself. 

_Nick could not hide. And neither could he._

Realisation swamped them both, and Roger stared as the other man screwed his eyes shut and threw his head back up. And he could almost hear the rushing snap of air when he threw it back down, hair twisting into Roger’s eyes and gaze glazed a verdant green.

Shocked into curious awe while the gaze into him pierced holes, he was unprepared for the spectacle that followed.

Black butterflies flew madly out of his hair, fluttering and flapping in inky droves. Beauty beyond comprehension, each fragile wing with an individual ghostly marking, swirling them into a vortex where the darkness spared only them.

Beautiful, but terrifying.

It struck Roger how the creatures fluttered their wings so purely, but were thrown into existence by their lust. 

Raven strands clung on to their own skins, as each touch battled to be uncoiled out as far as it could go. At the height of the tension, just a touch more and into pieces they would explode.

Nick, into shards of porcelain with nimbly painted pale roses along them, frivolities intermingled with his slender figure that held a power little knew. Roger, into pieces of shattered ornate stone, beauty unassuming but strong in his resolve.

Though it was futile under the sway of a caress and touch, from particular fine china.

Touch again. Move again.

Cracks grew in their shared perfection.

Growing brittle and straining under their vigour. 

Until the final sharp _crack_ of the crumbling stucco came with their smothered cry and call, as the rosy rapture swallowed all.

They fell far, shattering as they reached the bottom of the pit with a crash that resounded past the burning crimson corridors, slithering alleyways that led off to dead ends.

Coming back down.

Frenzy was left imprinted on their painted mouths, releasing softened breaths that turned to cloud in the simmering cold.

Pliant pigment trapping the whirlwind Roger had just lost himself in.

A whirlwind _they_ made together. Under the envelope of night, it was all they could do and all that they wanted to - or at least Nick portrayed it so, stroking the other man’s face in approval when his desires had keenly morphed to echo Nick’s own. 

This was their darkness. The Arcadian spirit that Nick imparted and Roger reached for, pulsing and coursing through him in a riveting jet black.

He found that he couldn’t help it, he didn’t want to help it. His long-standing rationale lay bound and screaming at him, but hesitation was merely fable here. 

Here, a place, where pleasure, and pleasure alone pulled the strings.

**Author's Note:**

> Nick has the dominant, wily tendencies and upper Arcadian hand, but in the end, Roger could too turn some ornate tables...


End file.
